


Perception

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fuuma and Kamui are fighting, Fuuma takes a step outside the routine. Things will never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stubborn

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ May 2, 2008.

“Tell me, Kamui, why do we fight?”  
  
The question sounded sarcastic, light-hearted, and incredibly stupid. Kamui glared at Fuuma as they continued their endless fighting—duck, swish, jab, dodge. They moved fluidly around one another, fists slapping against one another and well-aimed kicks breezing over battle-swept hair.   
  
“What kind of stupid question is that?” Kamui growled out, his eyes dark and angered.   
  
“Love is in the air,” Fuuma said in an almost sing-song voice—which did little for Kamui’s patience. They were in the middle of a fight and Fuuma was yapping away as if they were old friends. And he was laughing, too. At Kamui’s look, Fuuma continued, “Surely you’ve seen the way one of my little group members has been making eyes at that big guy, Kusanagi was it?”   
  
Kamui clenched his jaw and _glared_. He swept his fist against Fuuma’s cheek for good measure. The fucking bastard had the common decency to flinch and jolt away. Kamui followed him across the barren wasteland that was this hellhole. The group was far behind, fighting amongst themselves. Kamui had pursued Fuuma when he felt the man was getting too close to the water—and to the precious things within that underground chamber.   
  
“That kind of thing doesn’t concern me,” Kamui grouched as he wrenched his hand from Fuuma’s grip.   
  
“Tsk tsk, Kamui,” Fuuma said and the fucking condescending teasing tone was enough for Kamui to see red. He dove at the man and he back pedaled, laughing as he went, and blocked against Kamui’s insistent fists.   
  
They danced around one another, throwing kicks and punches, and in Kamui’s case, insults. Fuuma seemed unconcerned with the shorter man’s impatience and anger. Instead, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself—which did little for Kamui’s already sour mood.   
  
“And let’s see… there are other members of my little group who seem to be feeling sparks. And I’d wager there are a few in your group as well,” Fuuma teased.   
  
“Why should I care about something like love?” Kamui barked. “It’s stupid! And get away from me, you stupid fool!”  
  
“That’s not very nice, to call people in love stupid.”   
  
“It’s the truth,” Kamui growled. “People are idiots when they think they’re in love.”   
  
Fuuma laughed as Kamui’s knee caught him in the stomach. He flinched and doubled over—but managed to dodge in time before Kamui’s uppercut caught him in the jaw. And suddenly Fuuma was too close—in front, over, all around him—and pining him against a slab of rubble, fingers curling around his wrists in such a familiar fashion. He slammed him against the wall and Kamui kept glaring, his expression wild and fierce.   
  
“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?” he teased. Kamui frowned and kicked at Fuuma’s shins, but the man didn’t even flinch.   
  
“Shut the hell up.”  
  
Fuuma’s face split into an amused grin as he shifted his grip on Kamui’s wrists and pressed them above Kamui’s head and against the wall. He drew his face close—impossibly close to Kamui’s—and the vampire froze.   
  
“I like you,” Fuuma breathed, “and you’re a downright bastard to me.” His voice was almost song-like in the way he teased Kamui. The vampire’s eyes narrowed but Fuuma refused to draw his face away. “What does that make me?”   
  
Fuuma was smiling—grinning, even—but his eyes didn’t quite match the smile. There was a certain glint in those eyes, and Kamui didn’t trust it. Not that he trusted Fuuma at all, anyway.   
  
“An idiot,” Kamui finally growled out when he realized the damn idiot was waiting for an answer.   
  
Fuuma held his gaze for a second longer before his amused grin rippled away into his fucking annoying cocky smirk. He laughed and pulled away.   
  
“Guess so,” he muttered to himself, that hard light in his eyes sinking away into infinity. He pulled away completely, laughed, and waved his hand. “Well, Kamui, I really must be off. I hear a little bird calling me.”  
  
Kamui glared at him, his eyes hard and accusatory as Fuuma jumped back towards his territory. He could see his group members in the distance. He departed. Kamui glared after him, hoping that even with the miles between them, that stupid bastard could feel the hatred radiating off him. He scoffed to himself and headed back towards the governmental building—and towards Subaru.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Kamui glanced over at Fuuma for what felt like the hundredth time. Scowling, he tore his eyes away from the stupid man and towards his other group members. And then he had to remind himself that it was _normal_ to glare at the opposite team’s leader—especially when he was intruding on their territory.   
  
Fuuma’s behavior hadn’t changed in any way toward Kamui since that day, but once the thought that Fuuma’s simple declaration had gone deeper than mere friendship… (and why Kamui had settled on that word was beyond him). It wasn’t friendship. It was a rivalry.   
  
When Fuuma said he liked Kamui, he’d obviously meant that he liked fighting him—because the sick bastard got his kicks from giving Kamui another headache to deal with at the end of the day. But as soon as the mere idea that Fuuma had meant it as not-a-rivalry-appreciation-of-fighting-s

kills-kind-of-like had entered his head, the idea had affixed itself stubbornly to Kamui’s brain and refused to be shaken. Over time, Fuuma’s simple phrase morphed from “I like you” to “I _like_ you” to “I want to pound you into the nearest horizontal surface.” Or, alternately, because Kamui would be damned if he let that bastard have his way: “I want you to pound _me_ into the nearest horizontal surface—vertical, if we’re in a fix.” (Because that cocky bastard would say something like that, after all.)

It was stupid. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of things like this. He was far too old to have to deal with something so stupid—and what was worse that it was a stupid, annoying fuck of a human.

_Nothing_ in Fuuma’s behavior supported Kamui’s speculations about that stupid, simple phrase. Kamui knew this. This did little to quell his thoughts. And, well, for some reason the thought of Fuuma thinking of him that way caused something to click over in his own brain. And he couldn’t switch it back. And it was enough to make Kamui lose his fucking mind.

“Kamui,” Fuuma sang as he launched forward towards the vampire. The man barely had a moment to blink before he was jumping backwards, fists at a ready as the taller man descended upon him, his cloak flurrying out behind him and his expression set in his customary amused expression.

They continued their routine—Kamui ducked, Fuuma kicked, Kamui blocked, Kamui punched, Fuuma blocked. Kamui watched the way his lips curved, the way the curve of his neck arched the—

“Fuck,” Kamui hissed as he grasped Fuuma’s wrist and twisted it around his body, shoving the man away with a sharp kick to his back. Fuuma laughed and stumbled away from the vampire. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Somebody’s in a mood today,” Fuuma observed, rubbing idly at his aching backside. Kamui watched the way he moved and forced himself to glare up at Fuuma’s face.

What the hell was wrong with him? Not only was it fucking ridiculous to be thinking like this, it was ridiculous to be thinking it about this guy, of all people.

“Stay on the ball, Kamui,” Fuuma warned—but warned too late. He found himself pressed against the wall, Fuuma pressed against his body in such a way that it was almost too close. His fingers gripped his wrists and pressed them against the wall above his head. Kamui glared. “Your movements are slow today. Distracted?”

“What do you think?” Kamui growled out. Fuuma smirked.

“Thinking about something good?”

“Like there’s anything good to be thinking about,” Kamui groused. “Not here.”

“So cruel, as usual.”

“Get the hell away from me,” Kamui hissed.

His demand came too late because Fuuma was leaning his head forward, breaking the personal boundaries stupendously once again, and whispering in his ear: “Make me.”

Kamui glared and wrenched his hands from Fuuma’s grip, hitting them roughly against his shoulders before throwing a punch against Fuuma’s face—nicking his ear.

Fuuma jerked back and clutched his ear, hissing in pain. And then he laughed—the bastard—and smirked at Kamui. “Somebody’s feisty today.”

“I will kill you.”

“You say that a lot and yet here I stand.” His eyes glinted and Kamui hated it. “You really should be kinder to me, Kamui.”

“Like hell.”

They continued their fight, but Kamui was still just as distracted—and hated it.

 

\---

 

Kamui had had nearly enough.

He hadn’t had a proper sleep in weeks. And mostly it was because that, when he slept, he dreamed about Fuuma. As if it wasn’t fucking aggravating to have the bastard invade his personal space in his day to day life, having the little fucker invade his dreams was more than frustrating. And mostly because, in the dreams, they weren’t really fighting, not exactly. Mostly he dreamed of doing things to Fuuma and letting Fuuma do things to him that not only crossed the well-established boundary of rivalry and I-fucking-hate-your-guts but shattered it into infinitesimal pieces.

And having things like that—things that he should have left behind in his boyhood, things that were more suitable for a whiny, stupid lovesick idiot and not for someone of his stature and dignity—it was things like that that made seeing Fuuma every fucking day _extremely awkward._ Yes, indeed.

“You’re on edge today, Kamui,” Fuuma breathed in his ear. Kamui had to suppress the shiver that stubbornly clawed up his spine. He curled away, aiming a kick at Fuuma’s face for old time’s sake—and how he longed for the days when he could kick Fuuma in the face without admiring his facial features.

“How can you tell?” Kamui snapped.

“You don’t give me enough credit,” Fuuma remarked, his expression light but his eyes sharp and hard. He kicked his leg out and caught the back of Kamui’s knees, knocking him to the ground. He stepped forward and pressed his foot against Kamui’s throat.

Kamui hissed and glared up at him as Fuuma pushed a little too hard for comfort—enough to remind Kamui not to make any sudden moves. He looked down at Kamui, eyebrows raised, expression playful but his eyes keen and observant. Kamui hated those eyes.

“I notice a lot more than you think I do,” Fuuma said, tilting his head to the side so that the late afternoon light played off his hair in such a way that could be considered handsome if it wasn’t anyone else but the cocky man.

“Maybe you just give yourself too much credit.”

“I don’t think I do,” Fuuma said and he knelt down, shifting his foot only to replace it with a hand. It squeezed around his Adam’s apple and Kamui growled low in his throat. “But maybe I’m wrong, hm?”

“You are.”

“Of course.”

Kamui hated it when he agreed with him—possibly more so than when the man disagreed.

He had to get out of here. He decided in that moment—with Fuuma leaning over him, smirking like the fucking bastard that he was—that he had to get out. Subaru had to wake up. He had to get away from here, they had to keep running.

Subaru had to wake up. He had to.

He had to get away from this bastard, to get away from his stupid observations, get away from his stupid cocky smirk, his glinting eyes.

He had to get out.

Because they were both stubborn, but he knew sooner or later one of them would fold.


	2. Almost on Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things were meant to happen, despite Kamui's best efforts to think otherwise. The day he's to leave Acid Tokyo with Subaru is the day that he finally settles things with Fuuma. For now, at least.

“Leaving?”   
  
Kamui hissed as Fuuma twisted his arm behind his back, pressing up against him while wrapping his free arm around him.   
  
“Let go.”  
  
“Answer the question.”  
  
“What question?”  
  
“When are you leaving?”   
  
“Soon. Today, probably.”   
  
“And where’s your brother?”   
  
“Making preparations with the others,” Kamui snapped. “And he’s probably waiting for me, so let the fuck go.”   
  
“No.”  
  
“You—damn you…”   
  
“That’s not a nice thing to say to someone you’ll probably never see again.”  
  
Kamui couldn’t understand the strange tone in his voice, and didn’t want to, anyway.   
  
“Disappointed you won’t have me to fight anymore?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“You’ll find someone. Now let me _go._ ”   
  
“I don’t want to.”  
  
His breath was hot against the curve of Kamui’s jaw. Kamui hissed at him, his face livid. When Fuuma spoke again, his lips grazed over his feverish skin and it took all of Kamui’s strength not to rip his head off:   
  
“You’re the only one I want to fight.”   
  
“What the fuck,” Kamui growled and tried to kick at Fuuma’s hip. The man swiveled away, keeping his grip on Kamui, though he had to pull his face away from Kamui’s. Kamui was furious. “Why does that matter at all? Why can’t you just—”  
  
Enraged, he cut himself off and glared at the hunter. Fuuma merely laughed, as if seeing Kamui’s wrath was an amusing thing (and to him, it may very well have been) instead of something to be feared. He dodged Kamui’s next attack and kicked out his foot, knocking against the back of Kamui’s knee so that the man lost his footing for a moment.   
  
“Why can’t I just what?”   
  
“Leave me the hell alone.”  
  
“That’s no fun.”  
  
“That’s not a reason.”  
  
“Well I can’t really tell you my real reason, now can I?” Fuuma laughed as Kamui caught a fist against Fuuma’s shoulder, making the taller man stagger backwards. “You’d only get angrier.”   
  
“That means you don’t actually have a reason,” Kamui hissed.  
  
“Hmm, maybe.”  
  
“Men like you never have reasons,” Kamui snapped before shoving his foot into Fuuma’s stomach, knocking the man over.   
  
Fuuma’s foot caught on a spare slab of rubble and he fell backwards, resting on his back. Fuuma stared up at him, a look of surprise replacing the customary smile. Kamui smirked triumphantly as he dug his heel into the man’s stomach. Fuuma, for his part, didn’t betray much in his expression, but even he couldn’t help the small gasp of pain as Kamui leaned over him.   
  
“You’re all just a huge pain in the ass,” Kamui decided, resting one arm on his bent knee, heel still digging into Fuuma’s stomach.   
  
Fuuma blinked up at him, and then had the gall to laugh. “And all this time I thought you were intelligent.”   
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“I suppose it’s not your fault,” Fuuma continued, “you’re not used to this kind of stuff, are you?”   
  
“What stuff?”   
  
Fuuma shrugged from his position on the ground. Kamui growled at him some more and Fuuma seized that opportunity to grab his ankle and tug. Kamui lost his balance only for a moment, but it was enough for Fuuma to roll away out from under him and get back onto his feet. Kamui glared at him and Fuuma smiled back, as per usual.   
  
“You know,” Fuuma said with a wave of his hand. “Stuff.”  
  
“You just said that I’m not used to it,” Kamui growled, “so how the hell would I know what you’re talking about?”  
  
“At least you admit you don’t know,” Fuuma laughed.   
  
Kamui dove at him, fists clenched, and Fuuma met him. They carried on for a few minutes, a flurry of fists and kicks and curses (the curses being only Kamui’s) and laughter (the laughter being only Fuuma’s.)   
  
“See? Isn’t this fun?” Fuuma teased.   
  
Kamui sputtered angrily, his expression deadly.   
  
“Why can’t you ever be serious?”   
  
“Serious?” Fuuma asked, and there was a note in his voice that made it sound as if he were almost curious about what he meant. Kamui never could tell with him. Or maybe he could, and just didn’t want to look into it too much.   
  
Kamui dove at him again. Fuuma blocked him and swirled him around.   
  
“You’re never serious,” he hissed.   
  
He slammed Kamui against the wall of rubble behind him. Kamui hissed again, this time in pain.  
  
Fuuma’s expression changed, but only slightly. It was so minute that Kamui almost missed it. The easiness of his smile stiffened as he leaned closer, his grip on his hands forceful as he pressed them soundly against the wall behind Kamui. Kamui glared up at him defiantly, silently demanding an explanation and just as silently daring him to make a move. His eyes burned gold.   
  
“And what makes you think I’m never serious?” Fuuma murmured, his voice soft and demure, but dangerous. His grip on Kamui’s wrists was almost painful, but Kamui continued to glare at him.   
  
“You never are,” Kamui growled out, his expression angry. “You never listen to a thing anybody says.”   
  
Fuuma leaned forward and their eyes locked. And then Fuuma looked away, the smile still hinting at his lips, but his eyes darkened and swirling as he stared off towards the sinking sun, where heavy acid rain clouds hugged the horizon.   
  
“I do,” he finally said, tugging his gaze back towards Kamui, “when it matters.”   
  
And then he let go of Kamui and took a step backwards, hands on his hips and a laugh escaping his mouth.  
  
“But if Kamui’s going to be moody, there’s not much I can do, now is there?” he asked, laughing to himself.   
  
“Must you always do that?”  
  
“Do what?”   
  
“Go and say something like _that_ and then turn around and act like a jackass again,” Kamui snapped.  
  
“I don’t always do that,” Fuuma laughed. “Only for you.”   
  
“Well I don’t want it. Go make fun of someone else.”   
  
“Now now, Kamui. I could make fun of any number of people, and yet you’re the lucky guy who gets teased. What does that tell you?”  
  
“That you’re an idiot.”  
  
“At least I know how to flirt.”   
  
There was a cold, strange silence following that statement. Kamui started, and stared at him in shock, but Fuuma met his gaze evenly, shrugging one shoulder and crossing his arms. Kamui wasn’t sure what to say to a statement like that—because he’d been operating under the (correct, in his view) assumption that they were fucking enemies, and nowhere near something like _that_.   
  
But then again, there was no telling with someone like that bastard Fuuma. He’d been well known for doing stupid, senseless things (Kamui’s words, not Fuuma’s.) He’d probably tease one of the mutant worms if he had the chance.   
  
Kamui bristled. “Shut up! So do I!”   
  
“Kamui, you wouldn’t know flirting if it bit you in the ass.”   
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Maybe I just like do that kind of thing with Kamui.”  
  
“Cause it pisses me off,” Kamui shot back. Then added, “You bastard.”   
  
Fuuma stalked over towards him and Kamui tensed, his defenses rising up with each step the taller man made. He glared up at him as Fuuma stopped in front of him. But instead of looking victorious or teasing, Fuuma’s expression was almost soft—if Kamui dared to think such an expression could fit on that stupid man’s face. His head tilted to the side as he looked down at him.  
  
“I guess it’s easier for you to think that about me, huh?”   
  
Kamui glared some more, but it didn’t quite seem as angry as it should have been, given the situation.   
  
“Shut up,” he said again.  
  
Fuuma moved closer still and Kamui took a step back, despite himself. Fuuma paused, before moving forward again and pressed Kamui against the wall, almost gently. His hands gripped Kamui’s, fingers threading as he pushed them up against the wall above Kamui’s head, his eyes hooded. Kamui swallowed, and for a moment forgot himself and how he should be shoving him away.   
  
“And what would you say if I told you that there was a reason behind it all?”   
  
Kamui didn’t know what to say, and he even forgot to glare. He just stared.   
  
Fuuma continued. “Hm?”  
  
“Shut up.” He looked away, and instead of looking furious like he damn well should, he couldn’t help but feel a bit reserved and almost pensive.   
  
Fuuma laughed. “Uh oh, is Kamui going to reject me now, I wonder?”   
  
Kamui turned his head back again, and their eyes met. His eyes glinted again—and they always glinted, Kamui realized—but there was a question there. And Kamui wasn’t sure if he should be answering that question or not. If he should be letting this man stand over him, look down at him, his expression almost tender. If tender was something that Fuuma could do—and Kamui was sure that he couldn’t, not in this place and not with him.   
  
“I’m waiting, Kamui.”   
  
And perhaps it was in that moment that Kamui realized the position they were in—both literally and in the general sense. And perhaps he’d always known but it wasn’t until that moment that Kamui wanted to actually acknowledge that perhaps it’d been there all along. But now wasn’t the time to really look into that. Fuuma was waiting. But Kamui had to leave. He had Subaru now, he had everything he could possibly want. Right?   
  
“Why do you have to…” Kamui shook his head and scoffed. “You always have to say such pointless, stupid things, don’t you?”   
  
“Only for you,” Fuuma said quietly.   
  
Kamui tugged his hands, but Fuuma let him go without much trouble. He shoved Fuuma and the man moved steadily backwards with the smaller man’s directions.   
  
“I can see right through you.”   
  
“Hm.”   
  
He shoved again and this time Fuuma did topple over, and Kamui moved so that he was standing over him, glaring down at him—though this glare didn’t seem quite as angry as it should have been.   
  
“I’ll make you regret your words, you bastard.”   
  
And then he moved to sit on Fuuma, straddling over his stomach and glaring down at him. Fuuma blinked up at him, and Kamui couldn’t help but smirk at the surprised look on his face.   
  
“Well?”  
  
“This wasn’t what I was expecting,” Fuuma admitted.   
  
“Hmph, then you should think before you speak,” Kamui barked, leaning over him so that their noses almost touched. Still glaring he shifted on top of Fuuma and repeated: “I’ll make you regret your words.”   
  
Fuuma’s face rippled away into a satisfied smirk. “I look forward to it.”  
  
“The point is not to enjoy it,” Kamui barked, leaning over him, still straddling. Fuuma looked up at him, his face blasé and expectant. Kamui cursed, and sliced his claw against the side of the other man’s neck.  
  
The tiny breath Fuuma sucked in was almost reason enough to smirk and sit back, triumphant. He stared down at Fuuma, his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw tense as he thought over his next move. Fuuma stared up at him, and it was impossible to determine just what was running through his head—for once, that stupid smirk didn’t pull on his lips. Instead, he stared right back up at Kamui, meeting his gaze evenly, his eyes glinting in the semi-darkness. Kamui shifted, moving to stand up and get away from this. But Fuuma’s blood oozed slowly from the wound and it tickled Kamui’s senses until his eyes turned gold and he leaned forward, pressing his lips, tongue, teeth against the man’s neck, sucking hard and tasting the coppery blood slip over his tongue and down his throat.   
  
Hands gripped Kamui’s upper arms, but he didn’t stop. He continued drinking, his tongue lolling over the wound he made, his eyes hooded and burning molten gold. Fuuma stayed perfectly still, his eyes shut and his grip on Kamui’s arms tight and unwavering. He swallowed once and had to remind himself to breathe.   
  
Kamui pulled back after a moment, shrugging Fuuma’s hands off his arms and wiping a stray trail of blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.   
  
“There.”  
  
“Very nice, Kamui,” Fuuma said, and though he was smirking he was just the tiniest bit he was still rather breathless.   
  
“I’m leaving this place, once I’m done with you,” Kamui reminded him, his claws slicing through the front of Fuuma’s shirt. Fuuma shrugged.  
  
“I know.”   
  
“Hmph. Just making sure you don’t get stupid ideas in your head.”  
  
“I suppose we better make the most of our time, since cute little Kamui’s running away.”   
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Well if you insist.”   
  
Kamui growled at him and unsnapped the belt holding up Fuuma’s pants.


	3. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they left that world, they can't help thinking of what they left behind.

The last world was dark and dusty and far too familiar for Kamui. He’d been there for years, waiting for Subaru to awaken, counting the days like the raindrops of acid. He’d lost track of time and yet never quite lost track of his mission and that unnerving determination to get out, to keep moving, to keep Subaru away from him. And that man—his _brother_ —grated at his nerves, slowed the time in that desolate wasteland to a pathetic crawl.   
  
He’d dance around that man and his eyes would burn like fire—and Kamui wondered what his eyes looked like in those moments. That stupid man never seemed quite as scared as he ought to have been, never quite as desperate for escape as would have sufficed. He was always laughing, his eyes always amused but glinting with something deeper, something that Kamui was too afraid—not afraid, indifferent, rather—to care to identify.   
  
This new world was nothing like that world—Tokyo. This world was bright and cheerful—the night sky was drowned out and supplied with artificial stars, the pinpoints of electric light in windows frosted over with lust and spite. Kamui didn’t like it. He’d grown far too used to a clear sky, dotted with familiar stars. The one constellation he could see in this desolate cement jungle was foreign and antique.   
  
He’d sit at the windowsill and try to see some semblance of that world he’d left behind—and yet he’d wonder why he was holding onto it, dragging it behind him even as he surged forward with Subaru at his side. He’d sigh and sometimes his thoughts would drift over to a man he’d left behind—and that thought would be squashed faster than the thoughts of ‘home’ and ‘belonging.’ He had no room to think of such things—of firm hands gripping his wrists, hot breath upon his neck, his cool, cocky smirk as he pinned Kamui against a wall. Fighting. That’s all they ever did, but leave it to that man to make something as hateful as fighting into something sexualized.   
  
Kamui didn’t like to think about it.   
  
“Kamui,” Subaru said quietly one night. “It’s okay if you miss him.”  
  
“If I ever see that guy again it’ll be too soon,” Kamui said stubbornly, leaning against the wall and staring at an unfamiliar sky, drowned out by city lights and reflecting a pale grey color more so than the expected blackness of nothingness and empty space. “We need to keep running and if he knows where we are his stupid brother is sure to follow.”   
  
Subaru sighed. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit his tongue and his eyes shimmered in the moonlight.   
  
“Kamui…”  
  
The said vampire shook his head and gave his twin a small smile. The one he saved only for him. “It’s okay, Subaru. We’ll see neither of them again, and that’s the way I want it.”   
  
Subaru pulled his knees to his chest and sighed. Kamui was quiet as he stared out the window, looking out at the expansive, oppressive wasteland and wondered what it was like to be at home.   
  
He thought of that man but quickly quashed the feelings and thoughts that accompanied his mental picture. That was not something for him. That was not something he needed to focus on anymore. He had more important things to worry about—protecting Subaru, staying with Subaru, keeping Subaru away from _him_. He didn’t have time to wonder what became of that other hunter—that terribly cocky, foolish, and annoying man.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
They stood on the empty platform alone, in the distance, watching the group converse with the space-time witch. His smile was benign, but his thoughts were heavy with the memories of what had just occurred. The tree swayed innocently behind them, as if not aware of what it’d just housed—a nearly dead princess, an entry to the dream world, a kidnapper.   
  
“You were right about him, by the way.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Subaru-san’s brother. Kamui. He really is a feisty one.”   
  
“Isn’t he just?” Seishirou’s painted smile flickered in amusement.   
  
“Oh, I quite enjoyed our time together.”   
  
“You would, of course.”   
  
Fuuma laughed. “Being your brother has made me somewhat jaded, I’d think.”  
  
“And what do you mean by that, I wonder.”   
  
The younger brother laughed again. “Well, I’ve always been a bit of a masochist, hm? Who needs affection when I can have utter hatred?”   
  
“And will you see him again?”  
  
There was a long pause as the wind swayed the trees around them, flickering stray flower petals across their cheeks and through their black hair. Fuuma absently watched Yuuko speak to Syaoran and the others, his eyes hooded.   
  
Fuuma’s expression grew wistful. “Oh… who knows?”   
  
“Hmm.” There was a note of understanding in his older brother’s voice.   
  
“But I’m sure he thinks as fondly of me as I do of him, haha.”   
  
“Oh, without a doubt.”   
  
  
\---  
  
  
He’d gone to the park in the center of the city. Nobody went there, Subaru argued, it’d be a good place to leave this world. Somehow the spare hotel room they’d rented didn’t suffice. They needed to check out anyway, and Kamui was thankful for an excuse to escape it’s suffocating walls. It rained that day, and Kamui had to remind himself that the raindrops wouldn’t burn him or Subaru.  
  
They located themselves on the roof of an old tool shed, smack in the center of the park. Subaru was making the necessary preparations for leaving this world. And Kamui sat, staring at the two humans below him, completely unaware of their presence.   
  
He’d watched him drag her behind the shed, perhaps believing he was getting some privacy. He’d whispered to her his feelings—he liked her, he wanted to be with her, she was important to him. Kamui swished a paper cup of water in his hand. He wasn’t thirsty, he didn’t drink, after all. Not water, at least. But it was a hot, sticky night and it felt good to pour the water down his back. Subaru was in the distance, trying to see the stars. Down below the confession continued.   
  
“I’m sorry…”   
  
If that man was here, he’d be laughing into his ear, breathing softly against the shell, his lips grazing over the skin so softly that it was almost nothing.   
  
“See?” he’d whisper, his breath breezy and soft and amused. “I knew that you really liked me, Kamui.”   
  
“Like hell,” Kamui muttered to himself before tossing the paper cup of water to the ground and grinding it beneath his heel. “Like… hell.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” the girl below repeated. “There’s already somebody I like.”  
  
Kamui turned on his heel and stalked away towards Subaru, hopping skillfully from the top of the shed, landing on the ground not unlike a cat.  
  
“There’s already someone I like,” she murmured.


	4. Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then they meet again.

When they met again the world was a stark contrast to where they’d departed so long ago. Woody and green, the rain fell silently and peacefully. It was a welcome reprise for Subaru and Kamui, who had just departed a world ridden with political turmoil and public discourse. This world seemed uninhabited by humans, or, at least, they’d landed in a place abandoned and empty.   
  
But unlike Tokyo, where the emptiness was lonely and silent, no movement save for mutants and humans struggling for survival, this world’s emptiness was warm and gentle, like the moment between awakening and dreaming.   
  
One early morning, when the sunlight pierced through the newly grown spring leaves, filtering towards the forest floor and bathing the surroundings in a warm, green light, Kamui moved swiftly, moving around the trees as if it were mere child’s play. Subaru still slept where they’d made camp, and Kamui did not wish to awaken him.   
  
He’d just entered a clearing, pausing to breathe, with the sunlight licking at the back of his neck, when a strange sound filled the clearing. This world had little sound—even the birdsong was absent in this forest—but there came a distinct rush of wind, swirling above him. Kamui tipped his head back in time to see the sky drop down to the ground, much like a rivulet of water overflowing from the top of a cup.   
  
And it was in that moment that Kamui realized that he was witness to someone arriving from a different world. And once the strange wind of sky disappeared and revealed the traveler, he felt the bottom of his stomach drop away and his eyes burn gold with rage.   
  
Fuuma stood nonchalantly, his back to Kamui, pocketing something—possibly his means for travel—and looked around. He must have sensed Kamui behind him, for he tensed ever so slightly, before slowly tipping his head to the side, looking at Kamui with one eye fixed keenly on him.  
  
Kamui suddenly remembered just how much he did _not_ miss that smile.   
  
“Kamui,” Fuuma greeted, and something in his expression almost seemed kind, though Kamui didn’t dare look into a thing like that. “Long time no see.”  
  
The vampire’s claws were out instantly and he hissed. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Traveling, obviously,” Fuuma said, and dodged the man that came flying at him. “And I was hoping this would be a peaceful world.”  
  
“It was until you showed up,” Kamui snapped before reeling back and aiming his foot towards the side of Fuuma’s face, where he still wore those sunglasses he remembered and loathed so vividly.   
  
Fuuma didn’t answer. Instead, he met Kamui’s fists and kicks with his own—and it was so simple how easily they fell back into their routine, even as they dodged and ducked over tree roots and tree branches. Somewhere along the way Kamui found his cheek bruising and Fuuma found his sunglasses broken at his feet. Soon, they found themselves among the trees.   
  
“Really,” Fuuma said, between breaths and punches, “Is this any way to greet an old friend after so long?”   
  
Fuuma kicked out his leg and it caught the tree, splintering it beneath his harsh attack. Kamui ducked just in time, rolling away behind another tree before darting out, claws long and deadly.   
  
  
“We’re not friends,” Kamui growled, punctuating this statement with a quick punch to the stomach. Fuuma gasped a bit and stumbled backwards, pressing against a tree. Kamui was there in less than a moment, claws at a ready. But Fuuma’s hand shot out and grabbed Kamui’s before the claws could get to his throat.  
  
“Of course, how silly of me to forget,” Fuuma panted.   
  
Kamui glared and slowly pointed at his throat. Fuuma blinked once before he saw the claw slowly growing and pressing against his throat, just below his Adam’s apple. Fuuma looked at him curiously and watched as the claw continued to grow and Kamui took a step back, but Fuuma’s grip was tight, and he couldn’t get too far away.   
  
“Leave this world now,” Kamui commanded.   
  
Fuuma’s eyes softened and Kamui’s eyes hardened angrily as he glared—because Fuuma’s blatant refusal to fear him had always grated on his nerves. He jabbed forward the tiniest bit and watched the small stream of blood flow from the tiniest of puncture wounds on Fuuma’s neck.   
  
Fuuma ignored him and asked instead, “What would you call us, then?”   
  
Kamui didn’t answer.  
  
Fuuma looked at him expectantly. Slowly, the claw lessened in length, but remained at point to Fuuma’s throat, and Kamui walked towards him. Fuuma didn’t say anything, even as Kamui grabbed the scarf wrapped around Fuuma’s neck and tugged sharply. It was stained already with the small pool of blood.  
  
Kamui leaned in and ran his tongue over the length of his neck. He kept the claws at ready, tickling along the length of Fuuma’s neck. Fuuma didn’t say anything, but Kamui’s mouth on the pulse informed him of the tiniest increase of heart rate, and he felt the man’s head tip back shallowly.   
  
It’d been a long time since he’d had blood to drink, and there was something intoxicating about Fuuma’s, though he would never admit it or make such a thought real by thinking it even to himself. He drank from the small cut he’d made, though the blood flow was slow and tiny compared to how he normally cut his victims.   
  
After a moment he stepped back and glared up at Fuuma.   
  
“You’re such a fucking nuisance,” Kamui muttered and withdrew his claws. “Get out of here.”   
  
In a flash, Fuuma shoved him roughly against the tree and Kamui hissed at him.   
  
“You’ve grown slow, Kamui,” he murmured and his Adam’s apple bobbed and the blood flowed from the small wound there. And he didn’t say anything else for a long moment and Kamui wasn’t sure what he was going to do, and glared up at him, his body tense and ready for an attack.   
  
But then Fuuma grasped his chin, hard enough to bruise, and jerked his head upwards. And then he was kissing him and Kamui couldn’t move. He glared angrily at the man before closing his eyes and kissing back stubbornly, his fists clenched at his sides.   
  
They carried on in such a fashion for a long moment, Fuuma’s grip on Kamui’s chin and his body arched, his face dipped down to meet the shorter man.   
  
And then Kamui punched him in the side of the head, sending the hunter sprawling onto the soft forest floor.   
  
Kamui petulantly wiped the back of his mouth, rubbing away the distinct taste of that man.   
  
But instead of looking insulted or angry, Fuuma merely smirked up at the vampire. He swiped his thumb thoughtfully over the corner of his mouth, where Kamui’s well aimed punch had split the corner of his lip. He stared at the blood with a look of bemused wonderment before he came back onto his feet, brushing off his shoulders. The dirt and mud chipped away like stray pieces of rubble, much like that other world they’d left behind weeks, months, years ago—(how long had it been?)—and he was smirking down at Kamui, looking quite pleased.   
  
“I missed you, too.”


End file.
